Regrets collect like old friends
by Miss Puppet
Summary: She had sworn herself to have no regrets…. What if Elsie Hughes had accepted Joe Burns  proposal in 1913?
1. Chapter 1

**Regrets collect like old friends**_**  
><strong>__Rated_: T  
><em>Pairings<em>: Carson/Hughes  
>Disclaimer: It could not be less mine. Julian Fellowes wrote Downton Abbey, which is produced by Carnival Films for ITV Network.<br>_Spoilers_: It starts midway season 1 but will eventually contain spoilers for season 2.  
><em>Summary<em>: She´d sworn herself to have no regrets…. What if Elsie Hughes had accepted Joe Burns proposal in 1913?  
><em>Genre<em>: mostly angst. Romance? Who knows?

_Author´s note:  
>I feel like I need to explain a few things about this story. First of all, massive thanks to my beta-reader<em> **stuckinpast** _for proofreading and suggesting the baby name. (You´ll get there)  
>Secondly, about the title. I had already finished the story and I was – as always- trying to come up with a title, which I always find the hardest part. Then I found this beautiful pic <em>**ellie987**_ made on her tumblre page called ´Regrets collect like old friends.´ She has graciously allowed me to use it as a title for this story. Please look it up if you´ve got the chance, it´s really good.  
>And lastly, about the story. It started with a - ´Goodness, what would have happened if Elsie had accepted Joe Burns´ proposal in season 1?´ thought. The first chapter was quickly written, but sat on my computer for months because I didn´t have a clue how to finish it and I thought it was too depressing and pointless for a one-shot. And then two weeks ago I finally got a clue… I´ll be the first to admit that this is much more serious and darker then my other stories and it´s a bit of a new territory for me – so please let me know what you think. <em>

**Chapter 1  
><strong>_1914_

She´d sworn herself to have no regrets. She had made her choice and she wouldn´t look back. If she wasn´t exactly happy, at least she was content. If you looked at the facts from a practical perspective**,** her life hadn´t really changed that much to begin with. Instead of managing a large household that wasn´t hers to begin with, she now run a small household that was hers. And there was something uplifting, something satisfactory in knowing that at least now she was working for herself, for something that belonged to her.

Only, it never really felt like it. Even after a year it still felt like she was intruding on someone else´s life. As if she were playing a part – all the while waiting for the curtain to close so she could finally return home again. Everything – the farm, the village, her husband, his son - felt like something of a different life. Like something that really didn´t belong to her.

She kept his house – she still didn´t refer to it as theirs in her mind- spotless clean, and she tried to manage the accounts and oversee the handful of staff as a proper farmer´s wife would. But compared to her duties at Downton, it all felt so small and insignificant. And so very, very tedious. It didn´t take long for her to start feeling bored, even though she spend all her energy fighting that emotion.

She wondered how he was. She wondered if life had altered much for him with her gone. She wondered about her replacement. Would they have chosen Anna or had they advertised for a new housekeeper? Who was keeping him company now during the late hours in his pantry? _Was_ there someone to keep him company or was he alone?

Did he miss her? As heart wrenching painfully as she missed him? A while ago, in church, she had brushed rather close past a man who smelled vaguely like peppermint and it had taken every little bit of willpower she had not to break down in tears there and then, the scent reminding her so forcefully of the man she had left behind that it stuck her like a physical blow would. She missed his deep voice, his quiet presence and their crisp bickering matches. Joe didn´t bicker. Whenever she was a little put out and showed it, he would retreat immediately to the barn or his little workplace behind the house.

Did he think of her as often as she thought of him? Did he sometimes stop right in the middle of what he was doing just to wonder what she was doing? Bitterly she thought to herself that he probably didn´t. After her departure, she had been greatly and unpleasantly surprised to discover Charles was very much an ´out of sight, out of mind´ type of person. She had written him in the first months of her marriage. During a time in which she still believed she had made the right choice. That it would take some adapting, but that she would grow to be happy as Mrs Burns. She had eagerly awaited his reply, but none had come. She had written again and again, but the time between her letters had come far and wider as she fretted and worried about his lack of response. A few months ago she had concluded that apparently he didn´t care for a correspondence between them.

Perhaps to him her leaving Downton could be considered to be a form of betrayal. Perhaps he was angry at her for abandoning her post, for putting her personal happiness above the welfare of the house.

She would have laughed at the irony if it didn´t hurt so much. Her personal happiness…

She´d sworn herself to have no regrets. She had made her choice and she wouldn´t look back. And she could convince her mind she was content. But her heart was a different matter altogether.

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><p><strong>Feedback is very much appreciated.<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Thank you for your reviews! _

**Chapter 2  
><strong>_1914_

After her marriage and consequently her resignation, Anna had taken over her duties as housekeeper. Often he felt it was the one thing that kept him from snapping completely. Anna had been trained by Elsie and trained well. Her respect and affection for the older woman had ensured that once she had taken over her position, she had managed do so very much in the spirit of Elsie Hughes. Nevertheless this change turned his life into it being a far cry from the way it had been. Elsie Hughes was gone. Elsie Hughes did not even exist anymore but had morphed into Mrs Burns, a farmer´s wife, leaving him behind.

When she first told him that she was renewing her acquaintance with her former flame, he hadn´t thought much of it, assumed it was a caused by a wave of nostalgia on her part. He truly believed she would never consider leaving Downton. That first night of the fair when she had gone to meet Joe Burns he had grumbled to himself that the house was already falling apart if she was away for a few brief hours. She couldn´t possibly leave. When she had returned and had excused herself quietly to her sitting room, Thomas had remarked she looked ´sparkly-eyed.´ The phrase had upset him and a faint tingle of jealousy had filled his heart, but he had squashed it down at once. Surely Thomas was just a vindictive spirit, aiming to speak venomous falsehoods. There could be no truth in his words.

But as the days had progressed, he had noticed she had become withdrawn, preferring solitary to their evening chats in his pantry. Not that her performance was in any shape or form lacking, she was simply holding back from him as a friend.

But then one evening, about a week after she had gone to the fair, she had come to his pantry. Her demeanour had been hesitant, almost a little bit shy. She had told him about the relationship that there had once been between Joe Burns and herself. She told him about his proposal all these years ago and his renewal of it a week ago. And she had told him that she had decided to accept him. She would stay at Downton for the remainder of the month, but then she would leavewith Mr Burns, purchase a license and wed the farmer.

Looking back, he remembered only disjointed details from that evening. He remembered most of her words, he remembered the soft clinging noise the keys made, dangling from her skirt. He remembered the black dress she wore, adorned with lace at her neck. But he couldn´t remember his own reply at her announcement, he couldn´t remember the emotions that had swept through him at that moment. All he knew was the deep, impenetrable grey fog that seemed to enfold him as she had delivered the news. The fog that hadn´t lifted as the weeks before her departure passed in a blur of activity. There were so many little things that required their attention that he found he hardly had a moment alone together with her.

At that time he still experienced little emotion at the thought of her leaving. Even when her last evening at Downton came and she joined him for a final glass of wine in his pantry. He had watched her sitting across from him in the dim light of his private quarters. She had been filled with a nervous energy, expectant… Expectant of the new life she would enter the following morning he had no doubt. He watched her and intellectually he knew that it was their last evening. He knew that the chances of them ever meeting again were slim to say the least. And yet, although his mind understood, his heart was unable to grasp this bit of knowledge.

After all, it was unfathomable to him that she wouldn´t be here tomorrow night. She was so intertwined with his life, with Downton, that he simply couldn´t wrap his mind about to fact that this had come to an end. As long as her presence was near him, as long as she filled his sight, the thought of her not being here was incomprehensible to him.

She had left the following morning together with Joe Burns. And even as the car drove away his heart refused to accept the truth. She would return in a few hours. She would walk in, hang her coat on the hook near the kitchen door, refuse to give Mrs Patmore the key to the store cabinet, give him that tiny smile that she appeared to save just for him and go on about her duties.

But that evening, as he sat in his pantry, sipping his wine alone, gazing at the empty chair across from him, she had not returned.

The next morning she wasn´t there when he came down for breakfast and as the day went on he began to realize that the house was quiet. Despite the noise and bustle of the many people that lived and worked there, to his ears it had acquired an eerie silence, because he couldn´t hear her voice or her footsteps anymore.

And with each passing day his heart had come to understand just a little bit more that she was truly gone. It took weeks before that knowledge was already there in his head when he woke up, instead of him realizing it a few minutes after awakening, his heart sinking and twisting painfully as the realisation hit him. And for months after her departure he thought of things to say to her, only to realize with bitter disappointment that she wasn´t there to hear them anymore.

But it hadn´t been until her first letter had arrived, about two months after her marriage, that his heart had truly and completely shattered. Reading the lines, he could almost hear her voice as if the words were spoken aloud and he was seized by such a nauseating wave of regret and sadness that for long moments he couldn´t breathe. She was gone and he had let her leave without even as much as arguing with her, giving her a reason to stay. Suddenly he felt himself overwhelmed with emotions as the stinging ache of having lost her consumed him.

After that he went through an almost mournful phase. He mourned her loss as if he truly had had to surrender her to her grave. He mourned his lost chances, he mourned his indifference in taking her presence for granted and he missed her. He missed her fiercely and wholeheartedly. He missed her voice, her scent, her presence, her smile. He missed her handwritten notes, the flowers she brought to brighten up his pantry and the soup she saved for him on the evenings of long dinner parties.

Her letter had lain unanswered on his desk for weeks. Every evening he sat himself down and attempted to forge a reply. But the words had failed him utterly and completely. His numerous attempts ended unceremoniously in the trash bin as he bit his pen and contemplated every word.

When her second letter came writing a reply had become even more difficult. Because now, apart from writing the things to her he hadn´t manage to convey the first time he had tried, he also had to give her a reason, an excuse for his inattentiveness. And the longer he took to write a reply, the more difficult it became.

She wrote him a third time and a fourth. But the periods between the letters grew longer and the tales she told in them more aloof, more polite. After the fifth letter she stopped writing all together. He saved her letters as if they were his most treasured possessions, which in essence, they were.

And so the years wore on, the dull, stinging feeling of missing her never dismissing in the slightest.

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><p><strong>If you´ve got the time, please let me know what you think!<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3  
><strong>_1919_

The war was over. He had watched as the men had returned from Belgium and France. Mr Crawley with an injured spine, unable to walk. Thomas with his ruined hand, more conflicted than ever and William… William with his innocence still intact, while the rest of him was battered beyond repair. At least he got to die on British soil. At least he got to be buried in the village. He had visited sickbeds, had attended funerals and memorials and missed Elsie. Missed her more than five years ago when she had left him. Longed for her nearness, for her quiet strength and her voice.

He knew the years, the grief and loneliness had aged him. His face had acquired more deep lines, his hair had turned completely grey, even white at his temples. He noticed how his eyes had grown dull in time, how his gaze had become distant.

Even after the war the troubles for Downton and some of his inhabitants hadn´t end. During the war Mr Bates´ estranged wife had returned to claim her husband back. And John Bates had followed her back to London, even though at the time he already had come to an understanding with Anna. He never understood why, until Mrs Patmore had enlightened him, having listened to their private conversation from a grating on the wall. A year later, Bates had returned to Downton, much to his relief. Slowly he and Anna had been able to pick up the thread of their relationship, even though the threat of Vera´s actions still loomed over them.

That had all come to end, when a year prior to the end of the war, Bates had received news that his wife was dead, that she allegedly had taken her own life. Their engagement now officially announced, he had been genuinely happy for the both of them and for a brief time he had wondered if this would be an appropriate occasion to write to Elsie, to invite her to come to the wedding.

Then another turn of events had taken place. An investigation had started regarding the circumstances surrounding Vera Bates´ death when doubts were risen that it wasn´t suicide at all. All the evidence had pointed towards Bates. Anna, already expecting the course of events had insisted she and John got married as soon as possible so that whatever they had to face, they would face as husband and wife. Without even consulting him they purchased a special licensee and were married on a Friday afternoon. He never quite understood how they managed it, but in the weeks after Bates´ arrest the following Monday, it became clear that the couple had managed to enjoy their wedded state for the brief time that they had been together, because Anna was with child. Although this greatly complicated things, in the absence of Bates, he couldn´t help but feel a protective streak towards Anna and the unborn babe. He tried to lighten her burden in any way that he could. From making sure she was eating right to accompanying her to London when she visited her husband in prison.

When the trial had come Lord Grantham had done everything he could to assist his valet and former war comrade. A top lawyer had ensured that the prosecutor's accusations were shred to pieces and exactly a week before the birth of their daughter, John Bates had been cleared of all charges and was free to walk out of the prison.

His surprise had come, a day after the birth, when the reunited couple had invited him into the nursery to present him his goddaughter: Charlotte Margaret Bates. He had been touched to the point of tears when Bates had carefully placed his daughter in his arms. It was the closest he´d been to happiness after Elsie had left, although at that moment he had felt the loss of her keenly again.

But with the birth of little Charlotte, who quickly became the bright spot of his life, another problem presented itself: Mr and Mrs Bates finally moved into their cottage on the estate and Anna resigned from her position as housekeeper. Now he was faced with the daunting task of finding yet another replacement. Nobody on the current staff qualified for the position and he felt deeply apprehensive at the idea of advertising.

When he had voiced his concerns to his Lordship, the aristocrat had knocked the wind out of his lungs with his off-handed reply: ´Perhaps Mrs Hughes – I should say Mrs Burns now, is interested in having her old job back.´

He had stood there, absolutely stunned for a good ten seconds before he was finally able to stammer: ´Mrs Burns… why would she… why would she want to return?´

´Her husband died a couple of weeks ago,´ Lord Grantham had replied, his eyebrows rising at the sight of Carson´s bewilderment. ´I assumed you´d heard.´

´I did not,´ he replied, forcing himself to remain composed. ´How did you know?´

´Lady Cora corresponds with her occasionally,´ his Lordship replied, still looking puzzled. ´Don´t tell me she doesn´t drop you a line every now and then, Carson?´

´Mrs Hughes… Burns and myself have gotten out of touch these last years, I´m afraid,´ he finally offered.

´Well, if you manage to get her back I´d be ever so grateful,´ Lord Grantham said. ´It would be just like the old days.´

His mind was reeling with this newfound information. Elsie was now a widow. He wondered what had happened to Mr Burns, he wondered if she was very grieved by his loss. Would she be willing to return to Downton? For the past five years he had lamented that he has passed up his chance, that he had let her leave without a fight. Now it seemed that fate was handing him another chance.

Had too much time passed already? Had life changed them too irrevocably? Did he dare to take his chance this time?

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><p><strong>Don´t get excited just yet. <strong>


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: This is the chapter that earned this story its T-rating.  
>Because the war took more lives than the ones of those who died in the trenches. <em>

**Chapter 4**

After Joe´s death the farm felt even more alien to her. She had hired a farmhand to help with the chores she couldn´t possible accomplish on her own and out of a sense of duty she took care of everything else herself. But her heart wasn´t in it. She had never really wanted to return to the life of a farmer´s wife. It had been the reason she had gone into service in the first place.

In the evenings, when all the work was done, apart from her knitting or sewing, she sat down in what had been Joe´s armchair and reflected on the dramatic turn her life had taken.

The wounds on her body began to heal slowly, the bruises on her wrists, back and insides of her tights fading slowly. Moving around became more easy and slowly but surely her strength returned. She knew she would always have the scars. Faded marks on her body, proof of what had happened. She didn´t care about it. It was nothing compared to the emotional scars she had acquired once that dreadful message had been delivered on that fateful day.

Being in the army already, Peter, Joe´s son, had been among the first to be drafted to fight in the war. He had also been among the first that fell as the war turned out to be more gruesome, more devastating than anyone had thought possible.

Joe had taken the news of the death of his only son badly. She couldn´t blame him for it. Peter had been the only living reminder of his life as it should have been. Withy Ivy and possibly even more children. Not this cold farce of a marriage they found themselves in. Peter had been his son, his pride, his joy. And now he was gone, slaughtered in a meaningless war, buried namelessly and unceremoniously in an unmarked grave, a sea dividing them.

She had tried to be there for him, tried to comfort him, tried ease his burden in any way that she could. But in the end she had only been able to take his anger, his fury, his drunken hazes and his fists.

A few months after Peter´s death he had sought his refugee to the bottle to ease his suffering. At first he claimed it helped him sleep. She should have put a stop to it then, she really should have. But she knew how insomnia plagued him, how the nightmares tormented him, so she had let it pass. Soon his nightcap had turned into evenings at the pub and from then it had deteriorated. She´d found empty or half-empty bottles everywhere. In the barn, in his workplace, even stuffed in a kitchen cupboard.

The day she had confronted him about them had been the first day he had raised his hand to her. The blown to her jaw had been so severe and so unexpected that she had staggered back, incapable of reacting in any other way then whimpering in pain. She should have put a stop to it then, she really should have. She should have left, but she didn´t. Instead she tried to be a better wife, tried to keep him away from the temptations of alcohol, hiding her bruises as she went along.

She couldn´t manage. His visits to the pub became a daily occurrence and he always returned, heavily intoxicated, seething with anger, ready to take it out on her.

She found that she could deal with his blows, deal with his kicking, but that she was no match to his words, to his slurred, cutting insults. He accused her of being cold and frigid. He said she was arrogant and haughtily, thinking herself far above him. He found ways to degrade her, just to get even with her.

And her sense of guilt increased with every verbal attack. She had regretted every single day of her marriage to him, long before he turned to liquor. She had not kept her vow to him to forsake all others, for in her mind she had remained faithful to the one man she had ever truly loved. And without knowing about it, Joe had known.

Eventually his pain had become unbearable to him. She had been the one to find him, dangling from a robe in the barn. She had slid against the wall, wrapping her arms around her raised knees, crying with unrestrained sobs for the miserable mess their marriage had turned into, for his pain and for the undeniable sense of relief she felt, knowing that he would never lay his hands on her again.

Her regret had never been so bitter. She had never felt more shattered.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

The knock on the door startled her more then she cared to admit. Hesitantly and feeling more than a little apprehensive she opened the door, only to feel her breath caught in her throat when she realized who her visitor was.

´Mr Carson!´ she breathed eventually. ´What brings you here?´

´Good afternoon, Mrs Hughes,´ he said gently, taking in her appearance. ´Would you mind if I came in?´

´No one has called me that for a long time,´ she told him quietly, but stepping aside to allow him entrance.

´I apologize, Mrs Burns,´ he replied, his manner becoming a tad more reserved. ´I hope I find you well, despite the circumstances?´

´I am well, Mr Carson,´ she lied, walking ahead of him to the sitting room.

In those few minutes while she prepared tea he observed her closely. The years had changed her as well. She appeared to have lost weight. He couldn´t remember her ever looking this gawky. She was still in full mourning, the black of her dress accentuating the paleness of her skin and the greyness beneath her eyes. When he finally looked into her eyes, he realized what it was that had altered so much about her.

Her brown eyes that had always been so vibrant to him now held a haunted, guarded look. After she had poured him his tea she sat down across from him on the settee, her back perfectly straight, tense even, her eyes darting around the room, never settling on him for long.

Despite how altered she was, despite the twisting feeling in his stomach that something was definitely and deeply wrong, he relished this moment. Just to be able to look at her again, doing as simple as sharing a cup of tea. Just to hear her voice again.

´What is your purpose in coming here, Mr Carson?´ she asked, after they had spent a quarter of an hour on superficial chitchat.

He shifted in his seat and attempted to meet her eyes and hold her gaze. ´After Anna… Mrs Bates gave birth to her daughter she resigned as housekeeper. The position is open now and I was wondering… if you´d care to return?´

´You´re offering me the position of housekeeper at Downton again?´ she asked, sounding stunned.

´I don´t believe anyone else would really qualify,´ he answered softly.

´I´m… I´m not quite sure how to respond…´ she stammered eventually, looking around her as if her answer could be found in her surroundings.

He edged forward a little, trying to appear not too eager. ´But would you consider it?´

´I never expected to go back to Downton,´ she whispered it so quietly that he had to strain his ears to hear her. ´When I married Joe I thought I would stay here until the end of my days.´

´Were you happy here?´ he asked, the looming feeling of dread that had settled over him the moment he had entered the house rearing itself again.

She looked up so fast he could her neck snap. Her eyes were two deep, dark pools of pain. ´I will honour the memory of my husband, Mr Carson,´ she said shakily. ´He´s dead in his grave and I will say nothing to discredit him.´

He held up his hands in an attempt to placate her. ´I would never ask you to. But please think about it…´

She looked down at her hands for a moment, before looking him square in the eyes. ´Do you want me to come back, Mr Carson?´

´I do. Very much so,´ he answered promptly, without any shadow of doubt. ´I have missed you a great deal since you left.´

´You´ve missed me?´ A note of anger and confusion appeared in her voice. ´I haven´t heard from you in over five years, you never wrote back and you´ve _missed _me?´

´I´d been able to write to you only if I had missed you less,´ he answered truthfully, holding her gaze.

She returned to Downton at the end of the summer.

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><p><strong>Now you can get excited *smile*<strong>


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

That first night she slept in her old room in the servant´s corridor he slept on the other side of the wall soundly and deeply for the first time in five years. She was hurting and she had been hurt, probably in ways he couldn´t even phantom, but at least she was safe now. And even though his heart ached painfully every time he watched as her shoulders tightened and the look in her eyes became withdrawn as if she was locking herself up in a place far in her mind where no one could reach her, a deep sense of peace enfolded him from the moment he knew she was home again. And from that sense of peace stemmed a hope that began to guide his actions.

She had kept her promise and continued to honour the memory of her husband. She never told him anything of what had transpired between them. She didn´t have to. He didn´t need words to know what had happened to her. He discovered the truth slowly and painfully as the months wore on.

One afternoon, early after her return, she had come to his pantry, while he was busy making a selection of wines for a dinner party that evening. He had been busy, wanting to get the job done as soon as possible and she had been standing rather close to him, closer then she normally did. While they talked he continued with the task at hand, his pace swift and hurried, his hands moving quickly.

When he had turned around suddenly to check the label on one of the bottles, raising his hand to pick it up, she had stepped away from him in a sudden flash of panic, her hands shielding her face as if she was trying to protect herself.

He had stood there, frozen to the spot, watching how she took a deep breath to steady herself, her face flushing in mortification. The sudden reflex confirming what he had suspected, what he had known the entire time.

He had begun to suspect something, when on one of the first evenings in his pantry he had offered her a glass from the wine that was left from the dinner party. Her eyes had widened, her posture had become rigid and her breathing had become short and shaky. He could hear the wheels in her head turning as she thought of a reason to decline, so he beat her to it, telling her casually that he actually rather preferred a cup of tea at this late hour. She had calmed a little after that and from that night on he had unceremoniously poured the leftover wine through the drain.

He was determined he would no longer keep his feelings hidden. As by some miracle she had returned to him. Wounded and broken perhaps, but she had returned. And she would know she was loved. He never told her, he didn´t need the words to tell her, but he showed her in countless little gestures and actions. When she came down in the morning, her face grey and her eyes red he´d know she hadn´t slept a wink and that the little sleep she´d had, had been tormented by nightmares. On those days he brought her coffee in her sitting room after breakfast, just to get her though the morning and convinced her to take a nap in the afternoon when most of the bustle had died down.

When she came down with a nasty cold in the autumn he bought her eucalyptus balm, ignoring her protests. He accompanied her as she visited William´s grave every Sunday after church without fail.

He touched her as often as he could. For his part he needed the constant reassurance, the confirmation that she had really returned. At first he was very, very careful, not daring to go beyond brushing his hand across her arm as she stood near him. She had tensed the first few times, but gradually she had relaxed when he was near her. She stood closer to him and no longer startled when he placed his hand briefly on her back as he let her enter a room first.

One morning, as they were walking home from church she had slid her hand around his elbow of her accord, their shoulders brushing as they continued to walk. He had covered her gloved hand with his and had rejoiced in her trust in him. Not a word was spoken between them.

He remembered the first time he´d heard her laugh, really laugh again. On his afternoon off he had agreed to watch over Charlotte as Anna needed to go to Ripon. She had walked into the servant´s hall, the little girl perched on her arm already looking around her eagerly.

´Yes, there´s grandpa Carson, aren´t you happy to see him?´ Anna cooed, eliciting a delighted giggle from the baby. He had taken the infant from her, catching Elsie´s eyes as he rocked Charlotte on his arm, noticing she was smiling genuinely for the first time after she´d returned, all the tension leaving her face. She melted in the presence of the baby and after Anna had left they had fussed over the little girl all afternoon. After that day, trying to get her to smile became his first priority.

He had found a surprising ally in Isobel Crawley. He encouraged the tentative friendship that started to form between the two of them as much as he could, realizing that her eyes looked just that little less haunted after Mrs Crawley had come over for a lengthy cup of tea.

She healed slowly and he silently triumphed every time she hit another milestone. One evening, after a dinner party, she came to his pantry, a small smile playing around her lips. ´Was there any of that wine left?´ she asked casually.

´There is,´ he had answered, searching her face for any signs of apprehension or fear and founding none.

´It seems like a shame to waste it.´

She had returned to Downton at the end of summer. It took him all four seasons to bring Elsie truly home, but as they strolled over the grounds on another warm summer evening, he knew that he had.

´You´re looking at me,´ she stated, looking studiously at the path in front of her.

´I am,´ he agreed, equally solemnly.

She didn´t say anything after that, but let her hand drop to her side, allowing it to brush his´ before she tentatively slid her hand in his.

He intertwined his fingers with hers, pulling her a fraction closer to his side. No words were spoken between them. But he knew she had come back.


End file.
